


world enough and time

by pagans_in_vegas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, featuring minor appearances by the other avengers, kind of? maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-08-09 23:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagans_in_vegas/pseuds/pagans_in_vegas
Summary: Natasha spends five years leading what remains of the Avengers, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Carol spends five years in space, trying to pull the universe back together. But there are moments in between where they get to explore, just a little, of what could have been.[This fic covers the five-year skip in Endgame, through little moments seen from the eyes of Carol and Natasha.]Title taken from "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell.





	1. Carol

_I think you hide when all the world's asleep and tired. You cry a little, so do I, so do I._  
_I think you hide, and you don't have to tell me why. You cry a little, so do I, so do I._  
_ \- Hiding, Florence + the Machine_

* * *

Carol Danvers is not sure if she like the Avengers compound very much.

With Stark and his wife permanently gone and the rest of the Avengers scattered to tend to their own various issues across the world, it is quiet, much too quiet, with only Rogers and Romanov left behind to inhabit the large, sprawling complex once bustling with life. There's a certain heaviness that lingers in the air and presses against her chest whenever she moves though the building - the memories of the people who had once worked here, and once lived here. People who are now dusted and gone.

She's spent most of her life travelling through deep space, hopping from planet to planet, travelling alone to whichever galaxy needed her help. She is used to the solitude that it brings, and used to finding comfort in the soft humming of the empty space around her, reassuring her that there's no one around her for miles, that's she's safe and alone.

She is _not_ used to the haunting presence that lurks in the shadows of this building.

She doesn't like it – it makes her jumpy.

The clock continues ticking in the corner as she stares restlessly at the ceiling, her fist clenching around the thick cotton material of her blanket as she recalls the words, blinking accusingly at her from the screen of the meeting room below.

_Maria Rambeau – Missing_  
_Monica Rambeau – Missing  
_ _Nicholas Joseph Fury – Missing_

Carol sits up, shoving the sheets off her with a heavy sigh. Sleep isn't going to come easy tonight – when she closes her eyes, she sees the faces of people she's sworn to protect and failed, people she's lost because she wasn't good enough.

Wasn't fast enough to stop Thanos in time.

The hardwood floor is cold against her feet when she stands up and she shivers at the unexpected chill, pushing the door open and slipping into the hallway. It is dark outside, and utterly silent, and she contemplates heading down to the kitchen and turning the TV on, if only to hear the sound of another human voice around this place.

If she's left alone to stew in her thoughts for one more second, she might go mad.

She turns to close her door and frowns. There’s a sliver of light shining from the room next to hers – Romanov’s room – with its door slightly ajar, and when she pauses and listens again, she can _just _make out the faintest murmur of a voice.

_Some company is better than skulking in the kitchen alone_, she decides, and nudges the door open slightly. There’s a quick rustling of papers, and she spots a hastily minimised laptop screen before Romanov turns to face her, raising her brow in askance.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” she takes Romanov shoving her papers onto the table as a silent invitation, curling up on the couch next to her, and tucks her knees under her chin. “I just – I keep thinking about the ‘what-ifs’, you know?”

The other woman is silent, but her face softens with sympathy as she nods in understanding.

“What if I’d been here faster, what if I was around to help stop Thanos the first time…” She blows out a heavy sigh, running her hand through her hair. “Maybe _I _should have been here, stopped all of this from happening.”

“Hey, no – Danvers, it’s not your fault, okay?” Romanov reaches out to touch her knee briefly before pulling away. “You didn’t _know_.”

_I should have_, is the argument that rises to her lips. _I should have been here, I should have kept a better eye on things_, she wants to say, but the fierce look that Romanov shoots her quells her retort at once. She closes her mouth, and could’ve sworn that she sees the other woman’s lips twitch slightly, as though in satisfaction.

There’s a short lull in conversation as she watches Romanov power down her laptop before tossing it on top of her papers; Carol winces, both at the dull _thunk_ it makes and at the pang of guilt that pricks at her.

“I’m sorry, did I – were you busy?” She makes to leave, but Romanov shakes her head, waving at her to sit.

“Couldn’t sleep, either.”

And Carol doesn’t know what to say, because “I’m sorry” or “I understand” doesn’t seem to quite cut it after the magnitude of loss they’d gone through – half the universe turned to dust, Fury gone, friends and family lost, and a world paralysed by fear and grief and anger because they _weren’t good enough_. She’d seen the online forums and the picket lines that had formed outside the compound with her own eyes, protesting, demanding to know _why _and _how _the Avengers had failed so badly, and she looks at Romanov, wonders how she puts up with it so silently.

“You know what? We need a drink.”

She’s shaken out of her quiet contemplation when Romanov leaves abruptly, before returning with a bottle that she uncorks with a quiet _pop_.

“I can’t get drunk,” she reminds the other Avenger, but takes the proffered bottle anyway, taking a huge swig –

And chokes.

The liquid burns its way down her throat and into her stomach, warming her in a way that she’s not experienced for a _very _long time.

“Asgardian spirits,” Romanov explains as she takes a more cautious sip, and then another, and it doesn’t take long before they're both pleasantly buzzed, and Carol's being thoroughly entertained by stories of some of the Avengers' past exploits.

"Natasha Romanov," she hears herself say when she finally wrestles her mouth under control again, and Romanov lolls her head to the right to look at her.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Smart-ass," she sticks out her tongue, only to get an eye-roll in return. "Look, if we're going to be working together - "

She sticks her hand out, waving it in Romanov's face when she doesn't move, and Romanov, looking thoroughly nonplussed, slowly takes it.

"Hi, I'm Carol Susan Jane Danvers, but you should call me Carol. Not Danvers, not Susan, not Jane, just Carol."

And she's gratified when Romanov returns the shake, her lips twitching in amusement.

"Hi, Carol. Call me Natasha."

_Natasha. That's a pretty name_, she decides hazily, reaching out for the bottle again, and nearly falling out of her seat as she does so. _It suits her._

And then - _wow, this wine is _strong_._

(She doesn't remember anything beyond this moment the next morning.)


	2. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine months after the Snap, the unshakable team that's been Steve-and-Natasha is starting to crack.

_Those nights when your friends are gone, when you're holding on for someone to leave with,_   
_Those nights when you crave someone to be there at dawn, to wake with._   
_\- Those Nights, Bastille_

* * *

Natasha flips out a little the first time she sees Steve leave for a support group meeting, six months after the Decimation.

"Where are you going?" She asks casually over the stack of papers Rhodey had delivered three days ago; with nothing much that they can do out there, they'd been cooped up in the tower 24/7, only leaving when their supplies in the kitchen grew low. The mob camped outside had all but disappeared, but the prospect of venturing outside again isn't something that particularly entices her, not when the haunted, grieving faces around her remind her painfully of the family she's lost, too. But Steve comes and goes, and she can't help but wonder what is it that has caught his attention and seemingly given him some purpose again.

He pauses briefly, his hand on the door handle. "Group meeting, you wanna come?"

She blinks - _what group? what meeting?_ She isn't aware that any of the Avengers had called for a gathering, until he explains -

"It's a support group. For people who have... lost everything. For people who are trying to move on."

Natasha doesn't move for a long moment - the first thing she feels is rage, followed rapidly by betrayal, because _how can he_? How can he do this less than a year after they've lost all their friends, their family? How can he even _begin_ to move on? She isn't aware that she'd risen from her seat, knocking over the pile of papers perched precariously on the table until she sees Steve take one slow, careful step towards her, raising his hand. Her coffee mug rolls over and smashes against the cold marble floor, spilling its contents everywhere, but they both ignore the mess. 

"Nat..." he begins, but she snaps first.

"How - how _dare_ you?" She snarls, and it's slightly gratifying to see him retreat slightly. "We lost everything. _Everything!_ How can you look me in the eye and tell me that you're moving on?"

"Because I'm not," he argues before she can cut him off again. "But the world has to at some point, Nat, and it's my job to help them do it."

The wood of the table creaks, then cracks under her fingers, and she forces herself to loosen her grip in spite of the anger running through her veins.

"We have work to do here," her voice is cold and hard. "Others might move on, but we _can't_. We have to bring them _home_."

Steve runs his hand over his face tiredly. "Nat, we've exhausted every option."

"Our job isn't done until they're back."

"My job has always been to help the people - the survivors." She can see him rapidly losing his patience, and he opens his mouth to continue but then closes it, looking down at his watch. "I'm going. You can tag along if you want, if not - "

The door snaps shut behind him with an air of finality.

She sinks back down into her chair, studies the mess surrounding her, and buries her head in her hands.

* * *

Natasha has never felt so _lonely_ in her entire life.

Steve had returned from the support group meeting hours ago, but the memory of their argument hangs over the both of them; they'd greeted each other with a terse nod, then retreated into their own rooms for the night. She stares blankly at her book without taking in any of the words on the page until she feels the couch shift as someone settles down beside her. Her hand instinctively twitches towards her weapons, then the scent of ozone hits her then, and she recognises the newcomer at once.

"Good book?" Carol Danvers smiles wryly down at her, and in spite of her foul mood, she can't help but return it, relaxing almost instantly. There's something about seeing the other woman that lifts her spirits immensely, and Natasha sets her novel aside, already cheering up.

"I wasn't really paying attention," she confesses, letting it fall to the ground as she turns slightly to face Carol. "It's good to see you again."

“It’s nice to be back,” Carol tells her earnestly, leaning forwards to pull Natasha in for a quick hug. Under normal circumstances, she’d have balked at this display of familiarity from someone she barely knows, but now she lets herself draw comfort from it, and is slightly ashamed to find her vision cloudy with tears when she pulls away.

Carol squeezes her hand, once. “I need a quick shower, then I’ll be back, okay?”

“Be quick?” Natasha murmurs, feeling uncharacteristically needy – not that she’d ever admit it. But she’s been stuck in the tower for so long, with no one but Steve and the lingering presence of her family for company; she feels inexplicably drawn towards Carol, and just wants to spend as much time as she can with her before Carol has to leave again.

Carol’s face softens in understanding and sympathy, “I will.”

She’s prepared when Carol reappears in her room, this time, bringing the scent of strawberry-scented body soap with her; Carol grins at the bottle of wine on the bedside table (courtesy of Thor) and scrambles into the bed next to Natasha, slinging her calves over hers.

Natasha doesn’t mind; she merely raises her glass to tap it against Carol’s.

"To us."

She hears Carol hum quietly in agreement

"To us."


	3. Carol

_All this heaven never could describe such a feeling as I'm healing, words were never so useful,_   
_So I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before._   
_\- All This and Heaven Too, Florence + the Machine_

* * *

_There is_, Carol thinks, _something heart-achingly beautiful about Natasha Romanov, especially when she lets her hair down like this_.

They were careful to pace themselves this time round, after having woken up with hangovers the last time Carol came to visit; they're not drunk (not _yet_), just pleasantly tipsy, and Carol studies Natasha discreetly as she relaxes, sprawling out across the bed. She's neither stupid nor blind, and she recognises an attractive woman when she sees one – but Natasha isn’t just some _fling _that she’s had her fair share of travelling through space.

She thinks that Natasha deserves better than that.

There's a lull in the conversation.

"I ran into Steve on the way up," Carol begins, and doesn't miss the way Natasha seems to stiffen as she rolls over and sits up to face her squarely. "He seemed upset."

"We got into an argument," Natasha sighs, draining the rest of her glass. “He’s _giving up_, Carol. He’s just – moving on.”

Carol considers her next words carefully. There’s a cold, logical part of her – the Kree part of her – that tells her that they _have _to move on. With the Stones destroyed and turned into dust, there’s no conceivable way of bringing everyone back from the dead, and to linger on the impossible is a waste of time and energy. But she watches as Natasha’s eyes drift over to a photo, framed and displayed proudly on her bedside table – there’s Natasha skulking almost out of the frame, with a younger, red-headed girl beside her, and what she assumes is the rest of their team – and she feels a pang of sympathy and grief resonating deep within her.

She’s lost her family, too.

"Tell me about them," she says, softly, and Natasha freezes, her eyes darting up to Carol's gaze before glancing away. "I - I've never met them, Nat, but they mattered to you, and I… I would like to know them. Even if it’s just through your words. Even if I may never get to see them.”

For a moment, Carol wonders if she's pushed too far and overstepped a boundary, because Natasha's still sitting there, stiff and silent and unmoving, staring fixedly at her hands, which have curled into fists. She opens her mouth to backpedal and apologise, but to her surprise, it's Natasha who gives herself a shake and speaks first.

"I've tried not to think about them for so long." Her voice is small and subdued, and when Carol looks at her, she can see the faintest glimmer of tears streaking down her cheeks. She can't help herself – she reaches out instinctively to wipe them away, but Natasha beats her to it, running the sleeve of her sweater over her face. "It's easier if I just pretend that nothing's wrong. That when I go to bed and wake up tomorrow, they'll be here again."

And Carol _understands, _because she’s done the same, too, throwing herself back into her work just so that she would stop dwelling on what she’s lost – but while she has Soren and her daughter to confide in and talk to, it’s just occurred to her that Natasha, quiet and guarded and taciturn, has been carrying the weight of everything she’s lost _alone_.

She scoots across the bed and drapes her arm carefully around Natasha’s shoulder, and when the other woman doesn’t push her away, she pulls her close, and tucks her head under her chin. The collar of her t-shirt grows damp with tears, but she doesn’t mind – she lets Natasha cling onto her, half-awed and touched by how much _trust _Natasha places in her.

It takes a few minutes before Natasha peels away, rubbing at her eyes and leaning over to snag the photo before nestling herself back against Carol’s side, running her thumb over the faces smiling up into the camera.

“You don’t have to – ” Carol begins, but Natasha shakes her head.

“I think – I think I _want _to.”

She watches as Natasha’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile, already half-lost in her memories.

“Her name was – _is _– Wanda...”

* * *

Carol finds herself holed up in Stark’s labs with Natasha the next morning, having been (forcibly) dragged downstairs from the kitchen into the basement levels of the compound.

“I’ve got something for you,” she’d promised, and now Carol’s swinging her legs off the edge of the table (she wonders if Stark would have a fit if he sees them treating his lab equipment so flippantly) while Natasha tinkers with her comm system embedded into her uniform.

"I'm nowhere as good as this as Stark is," Natasha murmurs, bending over Carol's wrist again, and Carol has to suppress a shiver as she feels the strands of light-blond hair brush over her bare skin. "But - this should do."

She lets out a triumphant hum and takes a step back to admire her handiwork; Carol feels a slight pang of disappointment and the new distance between them, but pushes it aside and flexes her wrist experimentally - the new Stark tech adds a little more weight to her uniform than what she's used to, but she'll get used to it soon enough.

"Try it out," Natasha encourages her, still perched on her stool, and Carol obliges, tapping at the screen of her comm system. The device comes to life instantly, the screen flickering its familiar blue glow, then a tinny voice issues from the speakers embedded into her suit.

_"Hello, Carol Danvers. I am E.T., an offshoot of the artificial intelligence system F.R.I.D.A.Y., re-configured to specifically assist you as you travel through space."_

Carol puffs out a quick breath of laughter. “Holy shit, it _worked_.”

"You don’t have to sound so incredulous,” Natasha snarks back in return, but she’s grinning, too, and Carol knows that she isn’t offended.

“Of course you _had _to name him E.T.”

_“E.T., phone home_,” Natasha quotes softly, and Carol quirks her brow in askance. 

"If this is just your way of saying that you want me to keep in touch, Romanov, you could've saved yourself the trouble and just said so."

Carol expects Natasha to roll her eyes, or scoff – but Natasha merely shrugs, and leans over to loop her fingers around Carol's left wrist loosely, her fingers playing with the new tech embedded into her uniform.

"Well, yeah," she begins. "I don't have many friends left, so – it'd be great if you checked in, just once in a while."

Carol softens in understanding, because she doesn’t have many friends left after the Snap happened, either. She reaches out with her right hand to cover Natasha’s, and gives it a quick squeeze. “I’ll try my best. I promise.”

And Natasha smiles up at her, something warm and bright that makes her heart clench in her chest.

“Good.”


	4. Natasha

_My love, I see you're growing tired, so set the bad day by the bed and rest a while,_  
_Your eyes can close, you don't have to do a thing but listen to me sing._  
_\- Orpheus, Sara Bareilles_

* * *

Natasha spots Carol as soon as she enters the Earth's atmosphere.

She's the burst of light soaring across the inky blackness of the night sky, the brightest shooting star, obscuring the view of everything else and growing steadily larger as she angles her flight path towards the tower. Towards Natasha.

And Natasha has been waiting, pacing the roof of the Avengers tower since her conference call with Nebula and Rocket had ended nearly an hour ago; she can't help the wide grin that lights up her face at the sight of Carol streaking down the horizon back to her. The glare grows brighter and forces her to look away and squint; by the time she reopens her eyes, Carol is standing just in front of her, the light around her body flickering, then dissipating, plunging them both back into the dark.

Then the unthinkable happens - Carol _staggers_.

Natasha races over to her, all poise and dignity tossed aside, and grabs the other woman around her waist, supporting her and steadying her on her feet. She turns to Carol to ask her if she's okay, if she's hurt, but the look on her face scares her, a little, into silence.

She's seen Carol single-handedly carry a spaceship back to Earth and walk away looking perfectly put-together without a single strand of hair out of place, she's seen her dive in and confront Thanos headfirst, completely unfazed - but now, she just looks exhausted and _drained_. There's dust and soot and a sticky bright-green liquid (Natasha _really _doesn't want to think about where it came from) coating her face and her uniform, and her brown eyes are shuttered and dull.

"Carol?" She breaks the silence first as the other woman sags against her entirely, forcing Natasha to stumble slightly under the additional weight.

Carol tilts her head slightly towards her voice, and Natasha has to choke back a gasp - there's a jagged cut that runs from her temple, dangerously close to her eye, down to her chin that's still weeping tiny blue droplets of blood. She raises her hand to inspect it, but Carol jerks her head away from her probing fingers sharply.

"I'll be okay," Natasha hears her mumble, but her voice is soft, slurred, and hardly inspires confidence in her words. She tightens her hold on Carol instead, guiding her gently back down the stairs and towards her bedroom - for once, she's relieved that Steve had chosen to spend the night back in his apartment in Brooklyn. There's something so heart-wrenching about seeing Carol like this, so small and vulnerable that makes Natasha feel oddly protective towards her, and she doesn't want anyone else stumbling across her in this state.

She lets out a pained wheeze when Natasha lowers onto the bed - Natasha, briefly, mourns for her freshly-changed sheets, but soon turns her mind back to her task at hand. The first-aid kit she's stashed in her bedside drawer is finally put to use; Carol watches her warily from the bed as she all but flies to the adjoining bathroom and sweeps back in with a wet cloth and a basin.

"Look at me," she orders, and Carol complies wordlessly, allowing Natasha to bend over and dab at her cut to clean it; she winces in sympathy when Carol inhales sharply between clenched teeth. "I'm trying to be gentle, okay?"

To her relief, the bleeding seems to have stopped, and the flesh seems to be knitting itself together already. It doesn’t require any further attention, so she wrings out the cloth and runs it over Carol’s face, washing away the remnants of the fight she’d been involved in, then traces her fingers over her brow, then her cheek, then her jaw. Her heart flutters when Carol closes her eyes and lolls her head towards the gentle caress, completely open and relaxed and trusting.

“You scared me,” she whispers, running her thumb across her cheekbone; Carol’s eyelids slide open, and she’s slightly reassured to see the light beginning to return to her dark brown eyes.

She barely refrains from rolling her eyes when Carol smirks – her face twitching slightly as that action pulls at her still-healing wound – then retorts, “If you think I looked bad, you should’ve seen the other guy.”

“I take it that you managed to dive in with you fire hands and save the day, as usual.”

It was meant to be a playful jibe to lighten the mood, but it has the opposite effect of sobering Carol up completely. Her smile fades as she pushes herself upright to lean against the headboard.

“I didn’t.”

For a moment, Natasha thinks she’s misheard. “What?”

“I didn’t save them, Nat,” Carol repeats herself, not meeting her eyes, and something in the pit of Natasha’s belly clenches painfully at the desolation seeping through her voice. “I was too late. The Kree got to them so quickly that they weren’t even able to send out a distress signal, and by the time I dropped by on my way back here, they’d been dead for at least a day.”

And Natasha remembers Sokovia, and Nigeria, and remembers how it feels like to have the weight of innocent lives she’s failed to save on her shoulders; she scoots herself into bed behind Carol and pulls Carol flush against her chest.

“I went after the crew that murdered them – I’d been involved in some war or another for almost thirty years, and this is the first time I had actually been glad to _kill _someone. But it didn’t change anything. Everyone on that tiny outpost is still dead, the men, women, and even the _children_… Why – why do we still fight, Natasha? Why do we insist on fighting even when we lose all the time?”

There’s a long pause as Natasha mulls over her words, and remembers something Clint had once told her, in a better time and a better place.

“We fight for the hope of a better world.”

She hears Carol sigh, then sniffle.

“I’ve been fighting for _so long_.”

“Then rest.” Natasha tightens her arms around Carol’s waist. In spite of the situation, there is something oddly precious about holding Carol Danvers so close to her like this, she doesn’t ever want to let go. “Rest now, then we can continue fighting _tomorrow_, okay?”

It speaks volumes to Carol’s exhaustion when she doesn’t try to argue, and merely hums in agreement instead, tucking her head into the crook of Natasha's neck, searching for comfort that Natasha is more than happy to provide.

She remembers, vaguely, an old lullaby her mother had sung to her before she’d been given over to the KGB.

_“Спи, младенец мой прекрасный,_   
_ Баюшки-баю._   
_ Тихо смотрит месяц ясный_   
_ В колыбель твою._   
_ Стану сказывать я сказки,_   
_ Песенку спою…”_

Carol smiles, mumbling a quiet, "Pretty," even as her breaths slow down and even out, and the tension seeps out of her body.

And Natasha can't help herself - she leans forward and presses her lips to Carol's temple in a short, fleeting kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Nat sings is called the cossack's lullaby which has been around since the 1830s. The english translation of the lyrics can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cossack_Lullaby).


	5. Natasha

_You hover like a hummingbird, haunt me in my sleep,_  
_You’re sailing from another world, sinking in my sea._  
_ \- Wolves Without Teeth, Of Monsters and Men_

* * *

Two years after the Snap, Natasha Romanov's managed to rebuild her life around a routine.

She goes for a jog right after she wakes up, following the path that leads around the Avenger's compound, and takes the opportunity to make sure that their perimeter is still secure. This is followed by coffee (black), and breakfast (whatever she can scavenge from the kitchen) while she checks the morning's news and catches up on whatever work she's put off finishing the night before. Then it's ballet and the shooting range until she feels in the mood for lunch. More paperwork after her meal, and on the last Friday of the month, she initiates the weekly conference call to the rest of their team before dinner.

Steve has moved out of the Tower some time before - saying that it's easier for him to continue his work helping the survivors if he lived closer to them, but he drops by to forcibly drag her out for food. Sometimes Valkyrie shows up at her door, bearing gifts (alcohol) and claiming that she's been "sent by Thor to make sure that you're still alive", they inevitably end up getting drunk together and _always _regret it the next morning. Rhodey makes it a point to see her - even if it's for a couple of hours - to drop off his latest reports whenever he can, and even Nebula and Rocket visit whenever they're able to make a quick detour back on Earth before they have to jet off again.

So even as she's left to inhabit the giant, hulking building alone, there's always a constant stream of people dropping in to say hi - and Natasha's not stupid, she knows that Steve probably put them all on some kind of schedule to make sure that she never got too tied up in her work to take care of herself.

But Carol – Carol's the wildcard. She’s promised to attend their meetings whenever she can to exchange news and keep them updated on whatever is happening in the rest of the galaxy, but Natasha can count the number of times she’s actually kept her word on the fingers of her hands. Her visits back to Earth are equally as sporadic, in the twelve months that had gone by since Carol had last visited, she’s been back to Earth exactly _once_, to follow up on a lead on a job she was involved in. Yet in spite of the disappointment that coils deep in her heart when Carol screen remains blank and empty, Natasha _understands, _because Carol had once explained to her how time flows differently, especially in deep space, and that it's easy for her to accidentally miss the call when she’s wrapped up in dealing with business, but still –

She misses Carol.

She frets about Carol – a lot more than she does for the rest of her team – all the damn time, and wonders if she’s safe, and if she’s okay, and if she misses Natasha as much as Natasha misses her.

She’s not quite sure how the other woman had managed to worm her way so deeply into her heart so quickly – it had taken her _years_ to learn how to trust Clint, and later, the other Avengers on her team, but somehow Carol had shown up at the compound, bright and effervescent as the Sun, and Natasha can’t help but be drawn to her. There’s something _soft _in her, under all the bravado and self-confidence and swagger that she carries herself with; Natasha has seen the gentle smile steal over her face when she talks about her god-daughter and her past life on Earth, and she’s wondered, idly, how it would feel like if _she _were on the receiving end of that look, too.

Her laptop lets out a quiet _ding_, and she reaches out distractedly and taps at the “One new message” icon flashing insistently at her from the bottom left corner of the screen.

“_Ran into Danvers on our way from Moraband.”_

Natasha recognises Nebula’s message immediately: short, to the point, and without the long, rambling (and often irrelevant) stories that Rocket likes to embellish his reports with. She pulls up their ever-expanding map of the galaxy, flicking through the planet description (a mountainous, desolate planet with only an isolated native population hostile to any outside forms of contact) before turning her attention back to the rest of the note.

_“She still has no way to contact Earth, but wants us to pass on a message that she’s fine, and she’ll be back to visit in one Earth-week. Rocket and I are still following up on our earlier lead, and we’ll keep you posted if something turns up.”_

She glances at the calendar perched precariously on a tower of her books, then reaches up on an impulse and snags it to make a note in it, trying to quell the excitement already rising in her chest and fight back the smile trying to break free.

And she’ll _never _admit it, but:

She’s already counting down the hours until she gets to see Carol, face to face again.

* * *

There’s a glare outside her window that makes her scramble to her feet and rush for the stairs leading to the roof, and by the time she throws the doors open, Carol’s already landed, the white glow around her body already beginning to fade away. Natasha runs a critical eye over her – she looks tired, but she’s smiling, so she lets herself relax a little.

Carol is _okay_.

“Hi,” she begins, and Carol jogs the remaining distance between them to pull her into a hug.

“Hi.”

They pull apart reluctantly, still beaming widely at each other.

“How was – “

“Are you – “

They begin speaking at the same time, and Carol snorts out a laugh as they both stop and wave at each other to carry on.

“How was space?”

“Eh,” Carol shrugs, slinging her arm over Natasha’s shoulder as they head back down towards the kitchen, and Natasha’s heart flutters at the contact. She reaches up to lace her fingers through Carol’s, and is rewarded by a gentle squeeze of her hand. “It was alright.”

“Only ‘alright’?” She asks lightly, and Carol smiles down at her, her brown eyes soft and warm.

“Well, it definitely can’t compare to being back _home_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars fans might recognise the planet name Moraband. (I 'borrowed' the planet name and description, it really _is_ a mountainous and desolate planet in SW canon.)


	6. Natasha

_Suddenly I'm feeling brave, I don't know what's got into me, why I feel this way._   
_Can we dance real slow? Can I hold you, can I hold you close?_   
_\- All About Us, He is We ft. Owl City_

* * *

Sometimes, Natasha thinks that Carol is an incredibly distracting presence to be around.

Outside of Steve's frequent intrusions, she's grown used to living alone - she has her own schedule to make sure the tower remains up, and running, and habitable, and having another person around all the time throws her off her rhythm a little, but she likes it.

She likes not being the only person living in the tower, and having someone to banter with and talk to (F.R.I.D.A.Y. is good at many things, but holding a proper conversation is not one of them). She _especially _likes being able to wake up in the morning with the smell of freshly-made pancakes and bacon wafting up from the kitchen and under her bedroom door.

What she _doesn’t _like is the way Carol, all within the span of two days, has managed to squirm her way into the deepest corners of her consciousness – even when they’re different rooms preoccupied with their own businesses, Natasha is acutely aware of her presence in the tower, constantly pushing at her, drawing her attention away from whatever she’s supposed to be working on.

They’re working in the lounge together today; Natasha curled up on one end of the huge couch, poring over Rocket’s latest report, and Carol sprawled out at the opposite end, her feet propped up against the coffee table as she flips through the television channels idly. The chattering of the newscasters on the screen distracts her and pulls her focus away from the words on the page, she's about to ask her to turn it down when the other woman switches off the TV and tosses the remote onto the coffee table with a bored yawn.

Carol had once confessed to her that she’s never been good at taking breaks, or sitting still, or simply _relaxing _– she’s spent half her life in the military, her entire being is _made _to be in action; Natasha half-expects her to leave the room to work off some of her restless energy. She’s surprised when Carol simply pulls her legs up to her chest and turns to face her, propping her chin against her knee.

"You're staring," Natasha remarks, but Carol remains unfazed.

"That's because you're pretty," she tilts her head slightly, smiling widely back at Natasha, and Natasha can't help but return it. Carol reminds her of a puppy, sometimes – bright and optimistic and so full of life and –

_Wait, what?_

It takes her brain an extra minute to process Carol's last sentence, but when it finally does, it feels like everything around her has just screeched to a halt. She has to put her papers down and gape at her, wide-eyed, and there’s a part of her that wonders if she’s joking, but her eyes are warm and Natasha can detect nothing but sincerity in their depths.

“Carol – “

“It’s the truth,” she murmurs simply, inching closer towards her on the couch, and Natasha feels like she’s frozen, trepidation and excitement warring within her, pinning her in place. “Can I kiss you?”

Carol’s leaning over her now, and Natasha can feel her breaths, warm and steady, against her skin, and in response, she reaches up to run her hands through Carol’s hair before tugging her downwards to close the remaining distance between them.

The first time Carol Danvers kisses her, Natasha feels like she’s died and ascended to heaven.

The Black Widow is no blushing virgin – she’s kissed someone else before, and definitely _fucked _someone else before, but there’s something about sharing this moment with someone _special _to her for the first time that puts everything else in her past to shame. Even with her eyes closed, she can feel Carol _everywhere _– fingers tangled in her hair, and another arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, still, and her lips are soft and warm and tastes like a mix of the coffee they’d had this morning and the chapstick that Carol _always _uses.

It’s a quick kiss – a perfectly _chaste _kiss, but when they part, Carol is smiling at her, and her cheeks flushed pink.

Natasha thinks that she’s never looked more beautiful, so she leans forward and kisses Carol again.

She feels Carol tracing at her bottom lip with her tongue, and lets out a quiet gasp of surprise – Carol lets out a quiet moan at that, and the sound reverberates through her and shoots straight down to Natasha’s core, stroking the flame already burning there even higher, until she’s sure that it’s going to turn into an inferno that would devour them both. Her entire world has narrowed itself down to the woman in front of her; the only thing she’s conscious of is the sweet taste of Carol against her tongue, and the scent of an oncoming thunderstorm surrounding her, and then the hand in her hair slips free to join the one at her waist, and Carol’s tugging her forwards to straddle her lap.

When they part this time, it’s for air – both of them are breathing heavily, and this time, Carol is staring up at her with something akin to awe in her eyes, like she’s something _extraordinary_, and now Natasha’s the one blushing as she looks away.

“You’re so _beautiful_, Tasha,” Carol whispers, her hand reaching up to cup Natasha's jaw, and she strokes her thumb across her cheekbone gently, and Natasha can’t bring herself to protest the new nickname.

_It really is quite something_, she thinks, _being the object of someone's affections like this_.

Physical intimacy isn't a foreign concept to her - in her time at the Red Room, they'd been taught that sex was nothing more than a form of currency; in her time as a spy, it had been nothing more than another tool within her arsenal. But the way Carol holds her, all soft and gentle, like Natasha is something precious and would shatter if she squeezed a little bit too hard… This is something different.

A _good _different.

She rests her forehead against Carol’s, and for the first time since she’s lost her family, she feels the crack in her heart mend itself, just a little bit, and she doesn’t feel so alone.


	7. Natasha

_Even where the bricks are stacked, love is blooming through the cracks,_   
_Even when the light is gone, love is reaching for the sun; it was love that spun the world._   
_\- Anais Mitchell (lost Hadestown lyrics)_

* * *

_Watching Carol return to space after her last visit back on Earth had been one of the hardest things Natasha thinks that she's ever had to do._

_They had talked about _that _afternoon at length, when Carol had curled herself around Natasha in bed and pulled her close to her chest. It had been a much-needed, but also bittersweet conversation; given that Carol’s biggest priority is to return to space and soothe the rapidly-growing unrest and that Natasha feels solely responsible for overseeing the remaining Avengers until Earth, at the very least, returns back to some semblance of normality, they’d agreed that it’s be unfair, both to themselves and the people relying on them, for them to begin anything resembling a normal romantic relationship. _

_“We’re not doing anything now,” Natasha had reiterated, firmly._

_“No.”_

_“We’re just friends who –”_

_“Really like each other?” Carol’s interruption had earned her a swat to her thigh, but Natasha nodded in agreement anyway._

_“Yeah, until… ”_

_“Yeah.”_

_The unspoken promise hung above them – unacknowledged, but understood, all the same. It’s just for a few years, until the world can function without them keeping an eye on it all the time. Still, it never stopped Carol from cuddling up to Natasha whenever they sat together to work or watch TV, and Natasha had forced herself stop overthinking for once, and let herself enjoy all of it – the cuddles and the soft, quick kisses pressed to the top of her head, and the whole _domesticity _of it all until Carol had to leave._

_Steve had come, this time, to send Carol off – he’d given her a quick hug, a quiet “Good luck”, and then stepped back as Carol pulled her close, and Natasha dropped a quick, discreet kiss to her shoulder._

_“Stay safe,” she’d murmured, and Carol tightened her arms around her waist ever-so-slightly, before pulled away, her reluctance clear in every move she made._

_She’d remained standing on the rooftop, watching the speck of light shrink into the distance, then disappear amongst the clouds._

_“What was that all about?” Steve had questioned her later after cornering her in the kitchen. “Between you and Carol.”_

_She’d shrugged, “It’s nothing.” And_ _ to her relief,_ _ he’d dropped it._

_Except that it was not nothing._

_Carol’s dog-tag, the two halves carefully welded back together, lay hidden underneath her shirt, next to her heart._

_It was not nothing._

_It was something._

_It was _everything_._

* * *

There’s a soft knock on the study door that makes her jump and instinctively reach for her gun. It's cocked and ready by the time she takes a look at her visitor, who, in spite of the firearm pointed right at her face, remains unfazed - she merely smiles, then holds her arms out. 

“Missed me?”

_Carol._

Natasha re-holsters the Glock, her hands fumbling a little in her hastiness.

The chair topples to the ground with a clatter when she launches herself over her desk, nearly knocking over her coffee cup in her haste; she crosses the room in one huge bound, then leaps towards the figure still standing at the door, wrapping her arms around her shoulders even as she hears a soft “oof” of protest.

“I take it that your answer is a ‘yes’,” Carol murmurs, and Natasha lets out a yelp of surprise as she feels herself being lifted off the ground and spun around; she bats at Carol’s arms playfully, squirming a little until the other woman sets her back down. She doesn’t let go, but instead pulls Natasha closer, and Natasha allows herself to sink into the warm familiarity of the embrace.

She hadn’t realised how much she’s missed Carol up until this moment – but now that she’s back in her arms, she doesn’t think that she can let her go again anytime soon.

“You’re home,” Natasha finally breathes, rising to her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Carol’s jaw before nuzzling her head into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply – she especially loves the way Carol smells just after she returns from space, the scent of the Earth’s atmosphere clings to the suit and her hair, and reminds Natasha of an incoming storm, bringing in waves of rolling clouds and lightning and thunder. She thinks that it suits her. “I didn’t know that you were coming back.”

“I was just passing by,” Carol laces their fingers together, and Natasha feels her drop another kiss to the top of her head. “Decided to drop by and surprise you.”

And for a short while, everything is right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly shorter update today. we've also been seeing quite a lot from natasha, huh. we'll be seeing things from carol's point of view next chapter.  
the words at the start of this chapter aren't actually from a song - they're alternate/unused lyrics to hadestown, written by anaïs mitchell, her tweet where i got them from can be found [here](https://twitter.com/anaismitchell/status/1142424464933773314).


	8. Carol

_Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time._  
_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice, you'll make it now._  
_\- Falling Slowly, Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová_

* * *

Four years after the Decimation, Carol Danvers is _exhausted_.

She's been travelling non-stop through galaxy for the past year, trying to keep the peace, help planets move on and protect the native populations from opportunistic space pirates seeking to make a profit - it's good work (_honest work_, as Maria liked to put it), but sometimes thankless, and often back-breaking, and all she wants to do right now is to curl up in a corner and sleep off the ache that had taken up residence in her shoulders and the back over the past months. Her powers might have given her strength and endurance beyond any other human, but the endless fighting that she's put her body through is taking its toll, and when E.T. beeps and tells her that Earth has finally appeared on her radar, she lets out a heavy, relieved sigh.

No matter how long she's spent travelling through the vast emptiness of the universe, Earth would always remain her _home_.

All her best memories had been made here: their little family with just her, Maria and Monica, flying solo in her F-16 for the first time, watching her god-daughter grow up and follow in their footsteps to become one of the top pilots within the Air Force, and now -

Now, there's the time she's spent with Natasha, as well.

The small smile on her face widens into a grin when she draws closer towards the Avengers' compound to see the tiny figure of a redhead pacing across the roof, already waiting for her.

* * *

It’s an unspoken agreement that there would be no shop talk until, at the very least, after breakfast has been consumed and the kitchen tidied up.

Natasha retreats into one of the smaller conference rooms with an apologetic smile and a quick kiss to her cheek, murmuring about some sectarian violence that’s flared up recently that she needs to keep an eye on; that’s where Carol finds her three hours later, still scowling at the screen as she tries to wrestle the fractured governments around the world into some form of order, her hands fisted into her hair.

“Hey,” she breaks the silence, and Natasha lets out a long, heavy groan, before tilting her chair back to meet her eyes. “Wanna take a break?”

Natasha blinks once, before running her hand over her face tiredly. There’s no verbal reply, just a tiny shrug before she leans forward to gently bang her forehead against the table once, twice, thrice, before Carol decides that enough is enough. She loops her arms around Natasha’s shoulders, running her fingers through tangled red hair, and Natasha doesn’t protest – she relaxes into the embrace, smiling slightly when Carol drops a soft kiss to her temple.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s a short pause, then Natasha shrugs. "No. Not really.”

Carol winces in sympathy. “That bad?”

All she receives a sigh in response, and tightens her grip around Natasha, burying her face into her hair. It’s during times like this when their respective responsibilities to the rest of the world rests heavily on her shoulders, almost too much to bear. All she wants to do right now is to curl up and spend the rest of the day in bed with Natasha, binge-watching another season of some comedy TV show that Carol doesn’t understand but Natasha _loves_ (she’s threatened to end Carol more than once should any of the other Avengers hear even a single _word _about it), but Soren’s last message to her weighs heavily on her mind.

_We need you back here, Carol. The Kree are getting relentless, and they’re not just coming after us, now – we’ve been intercepting messages from planets all across this sector, begging for help. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re the only one who can stop them._

She misses the question Natasha directs at her and shakes her head, forcing herself back into the present – there will be time later, maybe, to fret and worry and break the news to Natasha. “I’m sorry, what?”

Natasha raises a brow at her uncharacteristic lapse in attention. “Let’s go on that break, what did you have in mind?” 

“I don’t know – go out, take a walk, do whatever people normally do with their girlfriends – “

“Oh, so we’re officially girlfriends now?” Natasha’s voice is light and teasing. Carol lets herself grin in response, but her humour doesn’t reach her eyes, and Natasha sobers up at once, studying her carefully. “Carol?”

The truth spills out of her lips before she can stop it. “I’m leaving again – tomorrow.”

And Natasha goes still.

“I’m sorry, Tasha.”

Carol watches as Natasha hunches in on herself, drawing her knees to her chest protectively – when her green eyes meets hers, they’re so wide and full of hurt and sadness, and she can’t help the pang of guilt that rises within her chest.

“It’s only been two days.”

“I know.”

“I thought we would have _more time_.”

She hears Natasha’s voice waver and crack on the last word, and then she’s flinging herself out of her chair and into Carol’s arms – and Carol barely manages to catch her before they’re both sent crashing to the floor.

“Nat,” she begins quietly, but Natasha merely tightens her grip around Carol and nestles herself more securely into her embrace, as though she never wants to let her go, so Carol closes her eyes, and drops an apologetic kiss to Natasha’s temple, and lets the warmth of Natasha, tucked securely in her arms comfort her, if only for a little while.

_I’m so sorry, Natasha, _she thinks, feeling heartsick and tired, and the ticking of the clock perched on the table only serves as a constant reminder of what little time she has left on Earth._ I’d thought we would have more time, too_.


	9. Carol

_Give me a memory I can use, take me by the hand while we do what lovers do._  
_It matters how this ends, 'cause what if I never love again?_  
_\- All I Ask, Adele_

* * *

_They decide to spend their last day together holed up in the living room of the Avengers’ compound, curled up around each other under a blanket on the couch while the television plays quietly in the background._

_“Are you sure?” Carol had asked, earlier – she knows that Natasha hadn’t properly left the tower in _days_, but Natasha had nodded, tucking herself firmly into Carol’s side._

_“I just want to spend time with you,” she’d admitted quietly. “Just the two of us, with no-one else to interrupt our time together.”_

_There’s the remnants of their Chinese takeout scattered across the coffee table that no-one wants to get up and put away, and a cheesy rom-com playing on the television, already ignored and forgotten in favour of their own quiet conversation. The heady mix of food, and alcohol, and the protective bubble around them keeping the outside world away (if only just for a moment) had melted all their earlier stress away, and Natasha is slightly buzzed and sprawled across the couch, her head resting on Carol’s lap as Carol strokes her fingers through her hair._

_“We should move in together,” Natasha begins suddenly, tilting her head up to look Carol in the eye, and Carol has to fight back a grin at the sight. She looks _adorable _like this, her hair mussed up and bundled in an oversized sweater she’d definitely stolen from Carol’s closet – not that she’ll ever tell her that._

_“Tasha, we have an entire _building _to ourselves.”_

_“No, I mean,” she waves her hand vaguely, and Carol narrowly dodges getting nailed in her face by a flailing palm. “After all this is over. We could get a flat, just for the two of us. We can wake up to each other every morning, and fall asleep together every night – it’d be nice.”_

_“Yeah,” Carol murmurs after a short pause._

_She’s been a lone soldier, a wanderer drifting through space, hopping from planet to planet, for over two decades, and she’s never once let herself think about settling down, let alone finding someone that she can always return to. Her life has been marked by transience: she arrives on a new planet, helps out wherever she can, and moves on – and she can count the number of people she considers “friend” on the fingers of her hands. It’s a cold life – a lonely life, and one that she’d been resigned to living forever, but – _

_Now that she thinks about it: a permanent _home _and a permanent _someone _to come home to._

_She finds that she quite likes the idea, too._

* * *

It’s still dark outside when Carol slips out of bed the next morning. The polished wood floorboards are cool beneath her feet, and she has to fight back a shiver when she stretches before reaching out for her uniform, hanging over the back of a chair. The quiet rustle of sheets tells her that Natasha is awake, too, and she turns.

“You don’t have to – “

Natasha cuts her off with a sleepy glare. “I’m not letting you leave without saying goodbye.”

The sun hasn’t properly risen yet – the sky is a heavy, inky dark blue, but Carol can see the faintest hints of pink creeping in from the east. She rocks on her heels for a moment, suddenly reluctant to go, but Soren needs her – the _universe_ needs her – and as much as she longs to stay and hold Natasha in her arms forever, she knows that she cannot delay leaving any longer.

“Well,” Natasha begins softly, reaching out to take Carol’s hands in hers, entwining their fingers together. “I guess this is goodbye.”

There’s a sense of finality in her voice that makes Carol frown, so she gives Natasha’s hands a quick squeeze in reassurance, before sliding her hands up her arms and around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. Natasha molds her body into hers, tucking her head under Carol’s chin, and Carol drops a kiss to the top of her head.

“Not forever,” she promises fiercely, pulling back slightly to rest her forehead against Natasha’s.

“Not forever,” Natasha echoes, blinking the tears away, and when she meets Carol’s gaze again, her green eyes are soft and unguarded and it makes Carol’s heart _ache _with yearning already – and she hasn’t even _left _the Earth yet.

_I miss you, already_, she thinks, and then Natasha is leaning up on her tiptoes, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her cheek.

“Stay safe.”

“Nat, you know me.” 

Natasha’s lips quirk up into the faintest glimmer of a smirk. “Exactly, which is why I’m telling you to stay safe.”

Her comm beeps with a new incoming message then, and the moment of levity is lost. Carol backs away slowly, reluctantly, until she’s pressed up against the parapet; she can feel the familiar warmth of her powers licking across her body, and she’s rising up into the early morning sky. The skyline of New York falls away as she streaks towards the stars above her before slowing down and taking one last look back: Natasha – just a faint silhouette now, barely visible amongst the darkness surrounding her – is still standing at the edge of the roof, her face tilted up to the sky, and as though she senses Carol’s gaze, she raises her hand.

The dull ache that has taken up residence in the center of Carol’s chest grows larger – she feels almost _hollow_, empty, like there’s a Natasha-shaped hole in her heart and she's left a part of herself behind.

She watches as the tiny black figure that is Natasha Romanov shrinks down into nothing more than a pinprick, and then she’s bursting through the clouds and hurtling towards the upper atmosphere, and she loses sight of her for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 5am and i didn't properly beta this, so sorry if there are major typos or errors!


	10. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a filler before things pick up again next chapter. this chapter took 3 rewrites, and i'm still not 100% happy with the final result.

_It's just another night, and I'm staring at the moon, I saw a shooting star and thought of you._   
_I sang a lullaby by the waterside and knew, if you were here I'd sing to you._   
_\- All of the Stars, Ed Sheeran_

* * *

It’s warm – warmer than Natasha had expected – in Wakanda. It’s the start of winter back in upstate New York, and she’d been enjoying the drop in temperature until Steve had decided that it’d be a good time for her to take a holiday, and sent her over to Africa.

_(“It’d be good for you,” he’d insisted. “It’s still a business trip so it’s not like you won’t be working, but you get to visit friends, and old allies, and get out of the cold at the same time.”_

_“I like the cold,” she’d protested – she’s Russian (or used to be, anyway), but Steve had simply ignored her and all but forced her into the Quinjet, and she had no other choice but to acquiesce.)_

She studies her surroundings discreetly as Okoye walks her through the ranks of Dora Milaje – the last time she’d visited, Wakanda had been a battlefield roiling with dust and sweat and blood, and even though the land had long since recovered, in her mind’s eye, she can still see the fight happening all around her and hear the faintest echo of screaming, and she tastes the old, familiar tang of desperation in the back of her throat.

In spite of the warm African sun against her shoulders, she shivers, forcing herself to shake away the dregs of the past, and Okoye shoots her a sideways glance when Natasha draws level to her, her hand resting against the door leading into the Citadel.

“Ready?”

She blows out a long breath before squaring her shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

The conference hall is already packed by the time Okoye strides in with Natasha in tow – there’s a sudden hush when they make their entrance, and by the time Okoye takes her seat near the top of the table and Natasha beside her, everyone’s faces are turned towards them expectantly.

Okoye nods, once. “Let’s begin.”

* * *

To say that she’s more than relieved when the meeting is dismissed would be an understatement.

The Black Widow is a spy and an assassin and sometimes a superhero, but she’s no politician – she’s only there as a representative of the Avengers and an impartial observer. She watches as the attendees begin to trickle out of the room, before turning to Okoye, who’s still sitting in her chair, her back ramrod-straight, and her hands curled into fists where they rest against the table.

“Okoye,” she begins quietly, and the general turns to face her, relaxing slightly when she realises that it’s just them alone, now, in the room. “Are you – you okay?”

“I never wanted to be a politician,” Okoye sighs heavily, rising and stepping over to the chair beside hers – the one that had been left conspicuously empty for this meeting, and had gone unoccupied for the past five years. Okoye rests her hands on its back, running her fingers over the cool leather, then turns to look Natasha squarely in her eye.

“If I could give my life up and it meant that everyone else could come home, I would, in a heartbeat.”

“Okoye – “

“If _you _could, wouldn’t you, Nat?”

And Natasha pauses and thinks about Wanda and Maria and Nick, but also of Carol, and the future they’ve planned together – of all the things she’s lost, but also everything she’s _gained_, and –

She realises that she can’t answer her question.

* * *

Outgoing call to CAROL DANVERS . . . Signal detected . . . Signal connecting.

Outgoing call to CAROL DANVERS . . . Signal connected.

There’s a faint beep from her laptop when the call finally goes through, and Natasha scrambles off her bed and across the room to her desk, where a hologram starts to take shape – a fuzzy blue silhouette that flickers once, before slowly sharpening until Carol is right there in front of her, grinning back at her.

“Hi.”

Natasha blinks once, twice, then – “Your hair.”

Carol’s wavy, shoulder-length hair is gone. She’s buzzed it short now, and Natasha half-misses her old hair, she’d particularly enjoyed running her fingers through it when Carol sprawled out across her lap, but she has to admit – it doesn’t look half bad. For a moment, she wishes that Carol was here, with her; her hands itch to reach out, to _touch_, and she wonders how it will feel like, the sensation of short golden strands against the palm of her hands.

She watches as Carol frowns, reaching up self-consciously to run her hand through it, “You don’t like it?”

Natasha runs a critical eye over Carol’s body – Carol is dressed in her usual combination of a black tank top and her uniform pants, and Natasha can see the faintest traces of still-healing scars running down her shoulders and across her body. But other than that, she looks fine, a little tired, maybe, but otherwise perfectly healthy, so she lets herself relax.

“You look _good_,” she smiles up at Carol.

She isn’t just referring to the hair.

Carol huffs out a sigh of relief then, and lowers herself to the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest. “How’s the general?”

“Okoye is fine,” Natasha waves her hand vaguely – she’d already sat through one meeting earlier this evening, and she doesn’t want to get dragged into another conversation about Wakandan politics, and she’s _a lot _more interested to hear about what Carol has been up to in space. “How’s space?”

Natasha curls up in bed, resting her chin in her hand, and watches as Carol launches into a lengthy explanation about the recent skirmish between two alien races that she’s been involved in, nodding at all the correct places, but her mind keeps on wandering back to the conversation she’d had with Okoye, earlier that afternoon:

_“If I could give my life up and it meant that everyone else could come home, I would. In a heartbeat.”_

It doesn’t happen often when they’re together, but there are times when Carol would curl into herself quietly and stare out of the window, a faraway look in her eyes, and Natasha would know that she’s thinking about her lost family again. There’s a certain heavy fondness in her voice whenever she talks about them – love, mixed with equal parts of desolation and guilt at her inability to protect them, and Natasha’s heart had always ached for her.

She understands what it feels like to see her family turn to dust before her eyes because she hadn’t been _enough _to save them.

She wonders what it would be like to erase the pain in Carol’s eyes when she thinks about her family, and imagines her, her brown eyes warm and wide and happy, being able to spend time with Maria and her god-daughter again.

_“They mean – meant – the world to me.” _Carol had confessed to her late one night, years ago. “_They are – were – my only family until Talos and Soren and Nick came along.”_

She imagines bringing Bucky back to Steve, and the kid – Peter – back to Tony, and Wanda, and T’Challa, and Shuri.

_“If you could, wouldn’t you, Nat?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the potential mood whiplash but gemma chan?? in the eternals?? one of the best news to come out of D23. i love her so much i straight up burst into tears when i saw the news.


	11. Natasha

_I could swear by your expression that the pain down in your soul was the same as the one down in mine,_  
_Oh, that's the pain that cuts a straight line down through the heart, we call it love._  
_\- The Origin of Love, Hedwig and the Angry Inch_

* * *

It’s quiet, and dark, and _lonely_ in the Avenger’s tower.

The click of her boots against the cool marble floor echoes off the walls as Natasha hurries down towards the meeting room at the end of the end of the hall – she’d been caught up in the latest reports Carol had emailed her four days ago, her eyes running over the last line again and again (“_I know I’ve been missing the previous few meetings, and I’m sorry. I’ll make it this week. I promise.”)_, and by the time she notices that it’s already sundown, she’s already late for the conference call with the rest of the Avengers.

Okoye, Nebula and Rhodey are waiting for her by the time she slips into the room, kicking the door shut behind her with the heel of her boot; she glances at Carol’s assigned space, the screen still blank and empty, and tries to fight the pang of disappointment rising in her chest.

_She promised that she’d be here._

The contents of her arms spill out across the desk – Okoye raises a brow when the jar of peanut butter roll over; Natasha catches it just before it hits the floor.

“_That’s _your dinner? Nat – ”

“I got caught up,” she brushes Okoye’s comment aside, turning to Nebula instead. “Where’s Rocket?”

“Coming. Carol?"

_She promised_.

And as though on cue, there's a flicker of blue at the edge of her vision - the hologram bursts into life with a short, sharp whine, and then Carol's standing _there_, a wide smile reserved just for her before she turns to the room at large, and then Rocket is bursting into the scene with his usual loud entrance, and the meeting is set into motion.

* * *

"Carol, are we seeing you here next month?"

"Not likely."

"What, you gonna get another haircut?" Rocket fires back, and Natasha’s about to step in instinctively to smooth things over before this meeting got out of hand again, but before she can begin to open her mouth –

"Listen, Fur-face. I'm covering a lot of territory. The things that are happening on Earth are happening everywhere, on thousands of planets."

There’s a beat of silence, then –

"That's a good point."

"... So you might not see me for a long time. I'm sorry."

Her words are soft and apologetic, and even as the rest of the group makes murmurs of understanding, Natasha knows that they're directed right at her. She watches, stone-faced, as Nebula and Rocket make their excuses and leave, followed by Okoye, then Rhodey, who gives them a long, lingering look - half concern, half curiosity, before he flickers out of existence, leaving the two of them alone.

Natasha puts down what's left of her sandwich and pushes her plate away - there's a gnawing hunger that's eating its way through her center of her chest, a feeling that she's come to associate with missing Carol, and suddenly, she's lost her appetite for the rest of her dinner.

"I'm sorry," Carol tells her again. "I wish - "

"Don't," Natasha cuts her off quickly, regretting it when she sees the flicker of guilt and hurt cross Carol's face. It's not that she doesn't understand - Carol is very much like her after all, and their duty to the people around them and the people who need their help takes precedence over what they want, it's just -

She aches for the life that she could lead with Carol, if they weren't in the Avengers, if they didn't need to carry the weight of the world upon their shoulders, and wishing doesn't solve anything, it makes that ache _worse_.

It's been _five years_, and sometimes - in times like this - she begins to wonder if the life they'd imagined that they would lead together is nothing more than a wild fantasy. Carol is away from Earth more often than not, mired in space politics and wars beyond Natasha's wildest imagination, and frequently uncontactable when Natasha tries to reach out to Earth; and Natasha is _always _trying to catch up on reports and coordinating the rest of her team.

Five years since the Snap, half the world is still in shambles, the universe seems to be embroiled in a perpetual conflict, and the idea of a peaceful, ordinary life with Carol has never seemed further away.

Her hands clench into fists at her side, and she forces herself to relax.

"When will this end?"

It's meant to be a rhetorical question - but her voice wavers, then cracks on the last word, and suddenly it's like a pressure valve that's been released. She can feel her cheeks growing wet before she even knows that she's crying, and hologram-Carol takes one useless step forward, reaching out to her before stopping, looking helplessly at her.

Natasha runs the heel of her palm angrily across her cheeks - she's _always _hated crying, it makes her feel _weak_, a lingering remnant of her Red Room days, but Carol doesn't let her hide away. She reaches out for Natasha again, this time making contact, and Natasha feels the slightest tingle of electricity when Carol's blue-tinged fingers brush against her skin.

"Someday." When she meets Carol's gaze, her brown eyes are fierce, resolute. "There _is_ an end to this."

The unspoken words linger in the air between them. _There has to be_.

"I want it to end, _now_." A wave of tiredness rushes over her, and she slumps into her chair. She hasn't slept properly in _days_. "I want - "

"I know," Carol murmurs soothingly, and there's another slight jolt against her skin when Carol leans even closer and reaches out to cover her hand in both of hers. "It won't be like this forever."

There's a quiet beep across the line, and Carol glances away for a moment.

"I have to go."

"Stay safe."

Carol's smile is forced and strained, and for one moment, Natasha thinks she sees the faintest glimmer of tears on _her _cheeks.

"I will."

And then the hologram flickers for one last time before fading away, leaving Natasha sitting in the dark alone, with nothing but ghosts and wishes and the faintest memories of Carol's touch against her skin for company.


	12. Natasha

_Just 'cause I predicted this, doesn't make it any easier to live with._  
_What's the point of knowing it, if you can't change it?_  
_\- To be Human, Sia_

* * *

"Nebula, a word, please," Natasha calls out as everyone files out of the room – Rhodey shoots her a curious look over his shoulder, but to her relief, he doesn't comment, nodding at Nebula as he closes the door behind him, leaving the women alone.

Nebula leans against the wall, gesturing for her to continue.

Natasha sucks in a deep breath, clenching her fists. The mix of the cold and her apprehension over the _Time Heist _– as Scott had dubbed it – threatens to choke her, and she forces the lump in her throat back down where it belongs; she's relieved that her voice comes out steady. "You were with Thanos went he went to Vormir. Do you know – did he say – "

"I was in the ship that took him to Vormir," Nebula corrects her softly, her eyes dark and unreadable. "It was Gamora who travelled down to the planet with him."

_Gamora_. Natasha glances away, chewing at her lip as she pauses, deep in thought. She knows about her, had read about her during her extensive research into the new heroes they'd welcomed into their fold after the Snap - the data surrounding her death is short, inconclusive, but she's not stupid, she's always been good at putting two and two together.

_Two of them travelled to the planet's surface, but only one – Thanos – returned alive_.

Panic grips at her chest, then, followed quickly by despair.

* * *

_Carol’s knees are pulled up to her chest, her head tucked into Natasha’s shoulder._

_There’s a photograph clutched tightly in her hands, it’s battered and slightly faded and dog-eared from having been tucked within the depths of Carol’s uniform for so long, but Natasha recognises the people in the photo at once. There’s Carol, her head thrown back in laughter and her arm slung around the shoulders of the younger woman – Monica – standing next to her. _

_“She was so happy,” Carol murmurs, her fingers stroking at the picture absently. “She’d just graduated from the officer training program, and she was so excited to follow in our footsteps, you know?”_

_“You must’ve been proud,” Natasha ventures cautiously. She’s known Carol for over a year at this point, she’s seen Carol bruised and bloodied from fights and exhausted by the constant space warfare she puts herself through, but there’s something about seeing Carol like _this – _a mix of self-reproach and anger and grief – that scares her. She thinks that Carol’s a little like a rubber band, stretched to its limit, just about to snap._

_Carol smiles, but there’s no joy in it – her eyes are empty and dull._

_“We were so proud.” And then her smile fades, and she smooths her thumb over the smiling faces, and Natasha feels a quiet sniffle, muffled against her shoulder. “She should still be _here_, Nat.”_

_“I know,” Natasha tells her quietly. There’s nothing else she can say, nothing she can do to fix it. “I know.”_

* * *

She closes her eyes and exhales sharply, and in her mind’s eye, she can see _everyone_ again, Bucky and T’Challa and Wanda, her eyes wide with fear and panic as she stares up at Natasha, even as her knees give way and she crumples to the ground, her body dissolving into dust that drifts away in the breeze.

_If you could give your life up to bring everyone home, would you?_

She grits her teeth, and makes up her mind.

_I know what needs to be done_.

She opens her eyes to meet Nebula's, only to find the other woman still staring at her, her gaze heavy with understanding.

"I'm sorry."

Natasha swallows. "So am I."

_It’s either Clint or me. There’s no one else. I must be the one to do it_.

The door clicks shut with a sense of finality when Nebula departs, leaving her alone, and she wants to scream. She wants to be able to lose control for once – to sob, yell, tear her hair out, _anything _that would get rid of the desperation building within her chest.

It's just – all so _unfair_, to have everything she's ever wanted, everything she once thought were just her wildest fantasies right there within her grasp, only to disappear in a snap.

Her heart aches_, _and in her thirty-five years of existence, she's never experienced this kind of excruciating _pain _before. She curls up in the corner of the room, burying her head in her arms, and there's this weird wheezing noise she cannot place until she realises that it's coming from her_, _and with each gasp of air, she's gasping _her _name.

_Carol, please._

She closes her eyes, lets herself sink back into her memories, and tries to remember how it felt like to have Carol hold her in her arms. She'd felt safe then, warm.

Loved.

_Carol, my love, I'm so sorry_.

Her eyes are stinging, but she clenches them shut, trying to stop the tears from falling - if she falls apart in this room, she will never be able to pull herself together in time, and the more she delays, the less willing she is to go. The stakes are too high for her to walk away now, and she feels the weight of the entire universe resettle back onto her shoulders.

_It's the only way._

_But, god, Carol... I wish we had more _time.

There's a knock on the door that snaps her out of her misery, and she leaps to her feet, stumbling slightly as Clint sticks his face in, pointing his thumb towards the main hangar. He looks better than he did in Japan, she notes dully. There's a flush on his cheeks, and his eyes are dancing with the same fire he once had, back when they were partners working with SHIELD together.

"You ready?" There's an undertone of excitement in his voice, and she can't fault him for it.

"Yeah," she fights to keep her voice from cracking as she shuffles the papers into a neat pile and pushes them to the side – a force of habit that she's never been able to break – and moves to follow him, before pausing. "You know what? Give me five more minutes. I'll catch up."

She waits till he's out of earshot before she pulls out the chair and sinks into it, running her hand over her face tiredly. "Friday?"

"Yes, Miss Romanov?"

"I need you to record a message for me."

"Very well. Who shall I address it to?"

"Ca- " she lets out a sob before clamping her hand across her mouth, hoping that no one else had heard that. "I want you to – the message - "

Another quiet whimper wrenches its way out of her chest.

"Carol Danvers. This message is for Carol Danvers."


	13. Carol

_I’m coming wait for me, I hear the walls repeating the falling of my feet and it sounds like drumming._   
_And we are not alone, I hear the rocks and stones echoing our song, I'm coming._   
_\- Wait for Me (Reprise), Hadestown_

* * *

There are rumours spreading throughout the galaxy.

At every planet Carol visits, she hears quiet murmurs throughout their streets - that there's been a call to arms back on Earth, and the two Guardians that had been helping to keep the peace have heeded the call and are gone. She can already see the effect that the rumours have, even in her quadrant of her universe – they’ve been supposedly gone for less than two days, and there's been a marked increase in space piracy, and the people (aliens) on the planets she's landed on are jumping at their own shadows.

Yet despite the weight of the tension lingering over them all, she can_ sense_ the hope threading its way through the air - but still, she worries.

There's a tiny voice at the back of her head that refuses to stay silent.

_Why are you still here? Why aren't you back at Earth right now?_

_What if Natasha needs you?_

_You know that Earth doesn’t have the technology needed to send a signal all the way over here; what if Natasha has been calling for you, and you’ve been missing it?_

She shoves that voice away, watching from the doorway as Soren murmurs softly to another Skrull commander before beckoning to Carol.

“You’re worried,” Soren begins without preamble as soon as Carol’s within hearing range. Her voice is gentle with understanding, but still, Carol winces, feeling a pang of guilt. She’d come to their part of the galaxy to answer Soren’s call for aid, but instead, she’s been nothing but distracted for the past few days.

“I’m here to help,” she promises Soren earnestly, already itching for a fight. She’s done nothing but clear the surrounding star systems of Kree forces and mercenaries ever since she’d left Earth months ago, but her worry over the rumours – over Earth, over _Natasha _– buzzes through her veins, making her anxious. Twitchy.

“But you think you’ll be of more help back on Earth.” Soren rises from her seat, stretching slightly. “I need a break. Come, walk with me.”

Carol takes the proffered arm, letting Soren lead the way as they trace a path down the meandering walkways that cut through the forests just beyond the settlement. It’s quiet there, peaceful – the sounds of the children playing fades away, to be replaced by the quiet rustle of the breeze against the trees – when she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine that she’s back on Earth again, sprawled out in the garden of the Avenger’s compound while Natasha works quietly on a bench beside her. The tension that she’s been carrying on her shoulders for the past week dissolves slightly, and Soren gives her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it, turning to face Carol squarely.

“Carol, I’ve known you for _years_,” she begins earnestly. “You’re a good friend to me. A sister. So _trust me_ when I say that I think you should go home.”

“I promised to help,” Carol murmurs weakly – but Soren is staring at her with a fierce intensity; her eyes are a deep, mesmerizing swirl of green, and for a moment, Carol is violently thrown back to another time, and another place –

_A pair of forest-green eyes light up with joy as Carol feels the Earth beneath her feet again - and then her vision is filled with red as Natasha flings herself into her arms, burying her face against her neck._

_"I've missed you," the redhead breathes, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, and Carol hums in agreement, brushing her lips over her Tasha's forehead._

_"I've missed you, too." - _

She sways slightly on her feet as the memory fades, her heart aching at how real it had felt to have Natasha in her arms again. There's a streak of wetness down her cheeks; she hadn't even realised that she's been crying until Soren brushed her thumb across her skin before pulling away.

“Just promise that you’ll return soon.”

Her vision is still blurry as she nods, knowing that she's been dismissed and recognising that there's no use in arguing against it. Soren pulls her into a quick hug, murmuring a quick “good luck” before retreating to a safe distance as Carol tilts her head back, studying the sky. It’s nearly evening, now – the sun casts bright green streaks across the alien sky, and it’s _beautiful_, but Carol thinks that it can’t hold a candle to the sunsets that she’s seen on Earth.

She taps at her wrist, and the screen in her gauntlet flickers to life.

_"How may I help you, Miss Danvers?"_ A tinny, crackly voice emerges from the tiny speaker embedded in her suit, and she smiles.

"I need you to calculate some coordinates for me."

_"Very well. Where to, Miss Danvers?"_

The world around her disappears into a soft white glow as she lifts off the ground.

"Earth, E.T. We're going home."


	14. Natasha

_I'm not ready for this, though I thought I would be, I can't see the future I thought I could see._  
_I don't want to leave you, even though I have to._  
_\- I Still Do, The Cranberries_

* * *

_Fuck, Vormir is way too fucking_ cold_._

Natasha's certain that she hasn’t stopped shivering since she'd stepped foot on this godforsaken planet, though she's not sure if it's due to the cold, or her dread about what awaits them at the top of the mountain looming ahead, or both. Her breath puffs out into a cloud before her face whenever she exhales, and she can hear Clint grumbling and cursing softly under his breath as they follow the well-worn path up the slope. It's beautiful, but the air of desolation and loss that hangs over the jagged peaks haunts her and reminds her of what she must do, and with every step she takes, she grows more keenly aware that she's quite literally, walking to her death.

She can hear the quiet ticking of her watch over the crunching of boots on loose gravel - a countdown to the end (her end) - and a thick mix of desperation, borne out of self-preservation crawls back up her throat, threatening to choke her.

If she hadn't been so goddamned stubborn to finish her mission and bring all of their lost family _back_, she would have turned around, given up, and travelled back home at once.

As it is, Clint's face as they'd left the ship is imprinted in her mind - try as she might, she can't erase the look of hope, mixed with relief and eagerness at the prospect of seeing his family again. She won't - _can't -_ be the person who takes that away from him, and so she grits her teeth, fights back the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, and soldiers on.

_Carol would be so _furious _if she knew_, she muses bitterly, her heart clenching painfully as her mind helpfully provides a mental image of the other woman, her brown eyes wide with devastation and betrayal. She spares one final, fleeting thought to the future they'd once dreamed of building together, discreetly wipes her nose against her sleeve, then speeds up to catch up with Clint, who'd drawn ahead.

"I bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain," she mutters, relieved when her voice doesn't shake, and Clint laughs quietly.

"Technically, he's not a raccoon, y'know?"

This is simple. This is easy - falling back into their old partnership, exchanging banter and odd quips while they worked together on the task at hand; Natasha rolls her eyes, forces herself to sink into the comforting familiarity of it all.

"Whatever, he eats garbage."

_This _is not technically true - they've spent some nights together in the Avenger's complex, her, and Rocket, and Nebula, and he certainly isn't scavenging her rubbish bin for meals; though his diet was so horrifyingly unhealthy that she might well be justified in calling it trash, anyway. She can see Clint's lips quirk up into a smirk, and he opens his mouth to retort, but -

"Welcome."

Instincts born out of years of training and working in the field kick in instantly - she draws her Glock even as she spins around, clicking the safety off, and there's a quiet, metallic _snick _beside her as Clint unsheathes the katana, his body drawn and tense.

"Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith."

Her finger tightens around the trigger as the thing - _specter? ghost? whatever it is, Natasha had never stumbled across such a creature before_ \- glides towards them, its face obscured beneath the shadows of its cowl. It stops a few feet away, hovering in the air; it doesn't move any closer or give any signs of malicious intent, so Clint relaxes slightly.

Natasha, however, doesn't like this - she's used to walking into missions fully armed and prepared, and to be confronted by a being seemingly not of this world and thrust into a situation that she feels ill-equipped to deal with makes the hair at the back of her neck rise on its end. "Who are you?"

"Consider me a guide," it replies, its voice hollow, echoing off the walls of the mountain around them. "To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone."

"Okay," Clint lowers the sword and nods. "You tell us where it is, then we'll be on our way."

And for a moment, Natasha marvels fleetingly at Clint's blissful ignorance.

"Oh, _lieblich_," it raises its head, and Natasha nearly recoils at the sight of its face, red, sunken, and corrupted almost beyond recognition, but she _knows _of him, she’s read about him in the SHIELD files - Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull, Founder of HYDRA, _what is he doing here_? His lips twist into a mockery of a smile, "If only it were that easy."

He leads them towards the edge of the cliff.


	15. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! before we jump into this chapter, i just wanna tell you guys that we have a discord server specifically dedicated to carolnat, and we're always looking for more people to join the party :) if anyone is interested in joining and screaming about carolnat with us, feel free to dm me on tumblr at starslikecandlelight, or v at agentnatasharomanov!

_But the edges of the world that held me up have gone away,_  
_And I'm falling into nothingness - or flying into something so sublime._  
_\- Edges of the World, Fun Home_

* * *

_In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul, for a soul._

Natasha has been sitting on the outcrop of rocks for the past fifteen minutes. The Soul Stone is right there in front of her, just a little bit out of her reach, and if she'd just taken two steps forward and leapt, Clint could've left, the Stone safe in his hands.

Yet she does not move, and she remains there, silent, still, staring over the edge of the world.

She'd thought that she would be prepared for this moment, that when the moment came, she would walk willingly towards death and leave Clint behind, but now that her time is actually _up_, she can't seem to bring herself to do it. There's a cold feeling of regret and blind terror that's taken up residence within her bones, and her entire body feels like it's been filled with lead - try as she might, she can't seem to force herself to her feet.

She sits there, lets the memories wash over her, and for the first time in her life, thinks of the life she's led - of everything that's brought her to this moment. She spares a second to remember the Red Room, but doesn't linger; there are other far more pleasant moments to recall. There's her time in SHIELD, then with the Avengers - times spent fighting side-by-side with teammates turned friends turned _family_, and also the times in between, curled up on the couch, her nose buried in a book while the boys bickered somewhere behind her. There’s Wanda Maximoff, grumbling quietly as she’s forced to study for her GED as Natasha watched and corrected every single mistake she made.

And then there’s _Carol_, and in her mind’s eye, Natasha can see them together again, the last day they’ll ever spend together: their legs tangled, Carol’s head thrown back in laughter, and the sunlight catches on her honey-blond hair and turns it into a blinding gold –

“Jesus!” Clint growls in frustration behind her, and she’s pulled back into the present as he plops himself down beside her, drawing his knees to his chest. "Look, maybe he's making this shit up."

“No, I don’t think so,” she replies quietly. The fear returns with her vengeance, clawing its way out from the pits of her stomach; for a moment, Natasha’s afraid that she would hurl.

Clint raises a skeptical brow. “Because he knew your daddy?”

“_I _didn’t. But Thanos left here with the Stone, without his daughter.” She rises, grabbing on to the remnants of her resolve with two trembling hands. “It’s not a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” he concedes. The shadows that’d haunted his face back in Japan had returned.

“Whatever it takes.”

He nods. “Whatever it takes.”

* * *

_Natasha remembers falling off the side of a building once, during her early days with SHIELD. It’d been one of her first times out in the field together with Clint, and they were both rough around the edges, trying to figure out how – after having been independent operatives through their entire careers – to work together._

_Their target had led them on a wild chase over the rooftops of Central Manhattan, but they have him cornered now. He’s backed up the edge of her roof, and Natasha raises her handgun and takes one slow, careful step towards him._

_“There’s nowhere left to run,” Clint tells him calmly, an arrow notched and held at the ready. “It’s over.”_

_Natasha narrows her eyes when he raises his fists, smiling widely back at them – there’s no air of panic or resignation; instead, he looks calm. Too calm._

_He takes another step back until he’s teetering precariously on the ledge of the rooftop, and she moves, diving towards him. She doesn’t notice until she’s almost on top of him that he’d been holding on to a detonator._

_There’s a white flash, and then the shockwave hits her, sending her flying over the roof._

_The last thing she sees is Clint’s eyes, wide in panic as he scrabbles for her hand, but misses._

_She’s _fine_ – she survives the fall, her left knee bearing the brunt of the impact with a _crunch _and gives way at an angle that almost makes her lose her lunch, and Clint has to half-drag, half-carry her into the medical wing at SHIELD HQ, but it takes her less than two weeks until she’s back in the sparring room again. By her account, she really is okay – she’s managed to walk away and lived to tell her tale._

Natasha doesn’t think that she’ll be walking away from this one.

* * *

Everything seems strangely muted around her.

The wind roaring in her ears seems to have died down, but she can still feel herself falling and see the figure of Clint – clinging to the rocks above her – growing smaller with the distance. For all her earlier fear and dread, she doesn’t feel an iota of panic now.

It is almost - peaceful.

She doesn’t know when she hits the ground.

There’s just a soft _thud_, then a fierce, tugging sensation in her chest, and suddenly she’s so _tired_, like she could just close her eyes and go to sleep _forever_.

Natasha decides that she quite likes that option.

Her eyelids slide shut, and she thinks that she can feel a soft hand stroking down her cheek, followed by a gentle brush of lips across her forehead.

_"It's okay, baby. We'll be okay. You can rest, now."_

_…Carol?_


	16. Carol

_Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend,_  
_you crack the whip, shape-shift and trick the past again._  
_\- Black Sheep, Metric_

* * *

_“E.T., send a message ahead to the Compound. Tell Natasha that I'm coming home."_

_"…"_

_"E.T.?" _

_"Message unsent, Miss Danvers. Something - or someone is jamming the signal, the entire building isn't receiving anything right now."_

* * *

Carol had expected to land on the lawn outside the Avengers compound and greeted, as usual, with Natasha throwing herself into her arms and a mouthful of fiery red hair.

Instead, she returns to find herself in the middle of a war.

The sound hits her first, as she enters the Earth's upper atmosphere – there's a low, heavy hum of cannon blasts whizzing through the air, followed by the sickening crunch of their impact against the ground, and when she strains her ears, she can pick up the faintest thread of screams and battle-cries, accompanied by the harsh clang of metal striking metal.

She picks up her speed, and the sick feeling she's managed to suppress on her trip back returns.

_I'm too late._

Dust clouds float above the field, obscuring her vision, and try as she might, she can't see anything going on below. She narrows her eyes, so fixated on getting to Natasha that -

_WHAM._

She nearly crashes straight into the missile aimed right at her.

"Fuck," she swears, swerving hastily, but it clips her in passing, and she lets out another stream of expletives as she fights to regain control over her flight path, before scanning the skies under her for the source of the blast.

There's another wave of blasts, but now that she's prepared, she evades them easily, and her lips twitch upwards in a small smirk.

_So there you are_.

She stops, points herself towards the massive vessel, and _dives_.

Metal buckles and gives way before her fists with a loud, harsh scream as she tears her way through the_ Sanctuary II _so easily and so effortlessly that it could have well been constructed of paper. For one wild second, she is reminded, briefly, of the kites that she'd taught Natasha to fly from the roof of the building, and shakes her head - this is no time for reminiscing. A well-aimed photon blast right into the stern finishes the job, and the death-moans of the ship drown out the screams of its crew as it disintegrates and sinks back to the ground, right before her eyes.

She cracks her knuckles, surveying her handiwork with a grim satisfaction. War, and by extension, killing isn't something that she particularly enjoys, but she is good at it, and she _does _take pride in a job well done.

The earpiece fitted into her helmet crackles, before bursting into life with a short, sharp whine.

"Danvers?"

She recognises Steve's voice immediately.

"We need an assist here."

"I'm on my way," she promises. Now that she's just skimming over the surface of the field, she can see him pointing in the direction of a tiny red-and-blue figure before turning his attention back to the fray. Thor raises his hand in a quick salute as she soars overhead, catching his hammer out of the air in one sooth motion, and she gives him a quick nod in return before whirling around and over the battle again.

What had evidently been an organised charge at first had disintegrated into small pockets of skirmishes scattered across the rubble-filled landscape – and then it hits her.

The sprawling Avengers complex that had once stood here – the place that she had once called _home_ – is _gone_.

An unwelcome bubble of fear pushes its way to the back of her throat, and she chokes – what if Natasha is buried in there somewhere, what if she's _hurt_, or worse, because _she_ wasn't around to help her? Her eyes scan through the crowd as she banks sharply to the left, trying to pick out a flash of red hair, something, _anything _that would tell her that her 'Tasha was alive, and okay. There are so many faces that she's never seen, but recognises from Natasha's stories and photos scattered throughout the Avengers building, and in spite of the salty, metallic taste of her terror and dread still lingering in her mouth, she has to smile.

Somehow, the Avengers had managed to bring everyone _back_.

The fact that they had _succeeded _bolsters her as she lands – her Natasha is more than capable of taking care of herself in her fight, and they’ll be _fine_, and they’ll both make it out of this alive. There’s someone curled up on the ground before her, a _kid_, really (Jesus, Rogers, this _boy _doesn’t even look fifteen), and she raises an eyebrow as he smiles somewhat sheepishly up at her.

“Hi I’m – Peter Parker.”

He unfurls his body slightly, and she recognises the Infinity Stones immediately.

“Hey, Peter Parker,” and she can't help but return his slight grin. “You got something for me?”

She watches as he clambers to his feet; the howling of Thanos’ army approaches, and Peter Parker takes a tentative step backwards.

“I don’t know how you’re going to get through all of that.”

He holds out the Gauntlet and she tucks it under her arm, unconcerned. She’s faced worse, and this time –

“Don’t worry,” a young woman lands beside her, her fists glowing red. _Wanda Maximoff_, Carol remembers – Natasha had talked about her often, and Okoye’s striding up to join them, readying her grip on her spear.

“She’s got help.”

– This time, she's not alone.

And then Pepper Potts is there, followed closely by Nebula, and – holy shit, is that a woman riding a_ pegasus _– everything else fades away. Her precious cargo secured, she does what she’s always been best at.

She dives head first into battle.


	17. Carol

_Flying at the speed of light, thoughts were spinning in my head,_   
_So many things were left unsaid, it's hard to let you go._   
_\- Waiting for the End, Linkin Park_

* * *

Possessing the power of a literal _star_ certainly has its advantages.

It is almost laughably easy for Carol as she cuts a swathe through the Outriders, her eyes fixed on the van in the distance, and the man standing next to it, waving desperately at her.

"Over here!" She can hear him shouting over the din of the battle, and she grits her teeth. Her blood is thundering in her ears, and she's never pushed herself this close to her limit before, but –

_600 feet._

She sweeps past Thanos.

_400 feet._

Her grip around the Gauntlet loosens as she prepares to pitch it through the quantum tunnel.

_200 feet_.

_Just a little more._

She's _just _at the van when the tunnel explodes into a burst of white light, then there's a concussive _boom _that sends her flying backwards, flipping head over heels, until her back meets rubble with a sickening _crack _that knocks any remaining breath out of her. The world around her grows dim and fuzzy, when she shakes her head to clear her vision, she groans – the movement only makes her nausea worse, and she drops her head back to the ground, trying to stop hyperventilating.

"…"

Her ears feel like they've been stuffed full of cotton – there's a low murmuring coming from her earpiece, but her eardrums are still ringing, protesting from the abuse they've just suffered.

"_Carol."_

"Mmwhat," she slurs as she flips herself over, trying to scramble back to her feet. The ground sways alarmingly below her for a moment and she closes her eyes. _Breathe, Danvers._

"Danvers, _you have to stop him now."_

The desperate command cuts through the fog still clouding her thoughts, and she doesn’t question – she _leaps_.

The Titan’s knee buckles under her as she lands, and he turns, still gripping onto the Iron Gauntlet; her right hook meets his face with a satisfying crunch, and as his eyes – burning with a murderous hate – meet hers, her lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.

_Oh, it is _on.

Carol is no stranger to fistfights – she’s been in countless of neighbourhood brawls as a kid (much to the chagrin of her parents), then trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat during her time in the Air Force; that skill had been further honed to near-perfection by the Kree, and later by Natasha. Compared to all that, Thanos is _easy_.

The blow meant for her face whizzes past her nose harmlessly as she ducks, and she sinks back into her old drills.

_Left, right, then left a-_

A hand closes around her wrist.

She’s sent sprawling into the dirt, and scrambles back to her feet instantly, spitting and choking on the dust that had settled on her tongue, but there’s _no time to waste_, he’s pulled on the Gauntlet –

There’s a certain desperation that drives her actions and fuels her as she dives back at him, scrabbling at his fingers. He cannot win, not here, not now, not when the Avengers had brought everyone back, not when they’re so _close _to winning.

_(Not when she’s so close to that tantalising future her ‘Tasha had painted out for them – a nice, cosy apartment somewhere in Brooklyn, just for the two of them, not too far from the rest of the Avengers should an emergency occur, but far enough for them to maintain a semblance of privacy. A life together where they’d get to wake up together every morning and fall asleep in each other’s’ arms every night. Take-out in front of the TV, catching up on The Good Place, and a cat. Maybe two.)_

The thought bolsters her and she pushes herself to her feet; she almost laughs as he headbutts her out of sheer frustration.

_Is that all you’ve got?_

They can both hear the creaking of the Gauntlet as the iron warps and cracks under the heat of her palms, and she pushes on, forcing the Mad Titan to his knees. The stones are coming loose from their settings, and –

He rips the Power Stone free.

Her eyes widen.

_Oh, fu… _

She doesn’t have enough time to complete her thought before a flash of purple slams right into her chest, and –

Pain, worse than _anything_ she’s ever felt before, blooms from the point of contact. It feels like her ribs had just taken eight straight rounds in the boxing ring against a sledgehammer, but she doesn’t have _any _air in her left to scream. She fights to draw a breath, but her lungs don't seem to be working and when she chokes the taste of iron coats her lips, and then mercifully,

_She sees a flash of red out of the corner of her eye._

the world

_A face, staring down at her – Carol’s vision is growing hazy now, and all she can really make out are a pair of green eyes, clouded with equal parts fear and concern._

turns

_...Tasha?_

black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, we're really getting close to the end, huh. nat's fate will be cleared up in the next update, i promise. it's been a wild ride :')


	18. Carol

_What's gonna be left of the world if you're not in it? What's gonna be left of the world?_  
_ Oh, every minute and every hour, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more._  
_ \- Good Grief, Bastille_

* * *

The world around her is quiet when she opens her eyes, squinting as they struggle to adjust to the light around her.

Carol can hear wailing in the distance, accompanied by the moans of their injured men lying where they fell, but there's no sign of Thanos, nor his army, and when she turns her head, studying the battlefield around her, she realises that they're gone.

There's nothing left of the Titan, save the piles of dust scattered across the land he once stood.

A flash of joy and relief runs through her veins - _we won! _\- as she struggles to push herself to her feet, but collapses back with a pained whimper when her ribs protest her actions. She runs her hand over her side gingerly, checking for broken bones, and her fingers come back blue. Another wave of dizziness washes over her, so she closes her eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"You gave us quite the fright."

She blinks once, twice up at the shadow above her. It takes a few seconds for her vision to slowly sharpen and bring the blurry shape of Steve Rogers into focus, and she nods back up at him.

"Give me a minute, and I'll be fine."

He kneels on the ground beside her, frowning at the dust that surrounds them before he speaks. "You've been out for a while. We thought you were dead until Wanda realised you were still breathing."

Carol huffs out a short breath of laughter. "Well, I'm not that easy to kill."

She takes the arm offered and pulls herself upright, hissing quietly, but her body is already healing and it doesn’t hurt quite as badly as it did before; her eyes flick across the landscape, hoping for a glimpse of a slim, leather-clad figure with bright red hair helping to comfort the living and move the dead, but Natasha's still nowhere in sight. Instead, she spots a battered Tony Stark lying prone on the ground, with Pepper, her Rescue armour gone now, crouched beside him.

"Steve - Is he - "

"He's gone," Steve tells her, his voice strained and shaking.

"Oh - Steve, I'm so sorry," she reaches out to touch his shoulder, briefly. She isn't close to Stark - they'd only met once, briefly, at the Avengers tower five years ago, but she knows that in spite of their long, tumultuous history together, Steve had once considered the man one of his best friends. Steve nods once, and she can see his jaw muscles working as he opens his mouth, then closes it, before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to speak again.

"Carol, I..." She watches him with a tinge of impatience as he falters - Natasha has to be somewhere out there on the battlefield, and now that she's been faced with the price they'd paid for victory, Carol's need to go to her, and hold her, and make sure that she's safe is steadily mounting. Loose rocks crunch under her feet as she scuffs the toe of her boot against her soil, waiting as Steve steels himself to continue.

"Natasha... She - "

The world shrieks to a halt around her.

And he doesn't have to say anything else because she _knows, _from the way his face falls and he drops his gaze to stare at the ground, at the dust puddles swirling around their feet. She knows, but her brain refuses to accept it, and she cannot believe what her heart is trying to tell her, and she has to fight back a hysterical giggle that’s fighting its way out of her chest, because this is ridiculous, right?

Natasha cannot be _dead_.

The very concept is impossible – incomprehensible, really – and she shakes her head, still smiling incredulously at Steve even as his eyes grow suspiciously glossy; he reaches out gently and takes her hand in his.

"You're lying," she whispers, but she can read the truth written on the lines of his face.

“Carol – “

A strangled wail wrenches itself free and she clamps her free hand over her mouth, still shaking her head as she stares back at him.

“I’m sorry, Carol. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her knees hit the ground, and she can’t make out anything else that Steve is saying – he’s crouched beside her and she can see his mouth moving, but all she can hear is the blood thundering in her ears, blocking everything else out and shutting her in her own world, where the only thing echoing in her thoughts is –

_I’m too late_.

Her shoulders are shaking – her entire body is trembling so _much _that Steve has to fight to hold her steady; she thinks that she’s laughing (_because this is just an elaborate, stupid, terrible prank, okay? Any moment now, her Tasha is going to appear from behind Steve and wrap her up in a hug and everything will be _fine_.) _and she doesn’t know that she’s crying until she notices, somewhat distantly, a teardrop drip off her chin and into the dust, and it’s joined by another, and another, until the ground beneath her begins growing damp with tears.

She clenches her fist, her nails digging into the dirt, and imagines that she’s wrapping her fingers around Thanos’ neck, slowly choking the life out of him; her hands are glowing white-hot and the ground is beginning to sizzle from the heat, and she feels Steve’s hand on her shoulder, cautious, concerned.

“Carol?”

She shakes his arm away.

“Just leave me be, _please_.” The words are cold and hard, but Steve acquiesces anyway. He rises slowly with a heavy sigh, and she watches him walk away out of the corner of her eye, waving Clint Barton – who’d been hovering a safe distance away – along with him.

_I’m sorry, Natasha. _ _I'm so sorry. _ _I should have been here._

_I should have been here for you._

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._

_Please... Come home._

Carol’s not sure how long she spends crouched there in the middle of all that ruin – all she knows is the sky turning dark above her and the sympathetic, pitying murmurs around her that die away as the evening gives way to night. Every once in a while, she can hear the other Avengers approaching her carefully, but she gives no sign of acknowledgement, and they leave her in peace. She can hear sounds of celebration drifting from the city across the field; families and friends who've been reunited five years after being forcibly torn apart, and there's a small, bitter part of Carol wonders if they understand:

Their happiness had cost her _everything_ she's ever wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. this chapter really hurt to write.


	19. Carol

_Do you remember winding your arm around my shoulder,_   
_As we wandered 'round the hill? Now I'm in that fog forever._   
_\- Haunted House, Florence + the Machine_

* * *

There’s something so fundamentally _unfair _about all this that makes Carol want to scream.

It's been a non-stop whirlwind of activity for the Avengers since the 'Battle of Earth', as the media likes to call it, had taken place. The city holds a memorial service four days after the battle to commemorate the fallen; they all attend as a show of support for Pepper, Carol can hear quiet sobbing from behind her as they watch her give the eulogy.

She'd been invited to speak - Steve had pulled her aside this morning and told her that there would be time given for her, too, if she wishes to, but she'd declined. She still can’t bring herself to talk about Natasha like Natasha’s really _dead_, and watches as Nick Fury takes her place behind the rostrum instead.

It is still too _raw_, the pain of having her heart ripped clean out of her chest is still so all-encompassing – she’s been travelling the universe for over thirty years, and thinks that there’s no language good enough for her to even begin putting into words the ache she carries with her all the time. Natasha’s absence haunts her in ways that she could never have imagined; sometimes she finds herself looking over her shoulder for a presence that is no longer_ there_, only to be met by another pair of pitying eyes instead.

Her time on Earth had been defined by Natasha for so long, it feels strange to be back and not have her around. Wrong, somehow. Like the gravity’s somehow changed; or like she’s landed on the wrong planet where everything is a carbon copy of Earth, but just a little awry, just a little amiss. It makes her feel unsettled - it makes her feel like she's back on Hala again, newly awake and lost and _alone _and adrift in a sea of strangers; only this time, the feeling of utter desolation is multiplied over, and over, and over again.

She flies down to Louisiana right after the service, where Maria is standing at the steps leading up to the front porch, waiting for her.

“Oh, Carol,” is all Maria manages to get out before Carol flings herself into her best friend’s arms, and finally, _finally_, lets herself break down, she’d been holding herself together, a stoic, supporting presence in the face of the media for _so long_.

She hasn’t let herself cry all this time.

“I couldn’t save her – _Maria, I couldn’t save her._”

Her voice wavers, then cracks as she buries her face into Maria’s neck, and Maria lowers them to the ground, and wraps her arms around Carol’s waist, holding her _tight_, as though she’s trying to pull together the broken pieces of her very soul while Carol falls apart, four days’ worth of grief, and pain, and anger washing over her, all at once.

* * *

She stays on Earth for the next two months, helping the rest of the Avengers clean up the ruins of the Avenger’s compound, helping New York _rebuild_. Thanos’ air-strikes had completely decimated the land around the sprawling complex – there’s nothing that survived the battle, nothing that Carol can even _salvage _for her to remember Natasha by. She kicks apart the huge concrete blocks barring her way and dives into places the other Avengers cannot reach, hoping, desperately, beyond hope that she’d find something, _anything _that would tell her that Natasha had once lived her life here, hunting desperately for traces of Natasha left behind, but after days left exposed to water and the sun, anything not made of stone or metal had rotten away so much that they crumble away into dust as soon as she lays her hands on them.

They move the rubble out of the way, and on the land where the main building once stood – on the land where Carol had said goodbye to Natasha for the last time, they build a memorial for her, and for Tony, and for the multitudes of Wakandans and Asgardians and everyone else who’d given up their lives to save the world.

It’s where she takes to spending most of her spare time, alone.

It’s quiet here at night; peaceful, with nothing else but the ghosts for company, and she sits under the huge marble monolith, runs her fingers over the letters – _NATALIA ROMANOVA_ – carved into its base, and talks to Natasha like she’s here. Like she’s sitting beside Carol, like she can _reply_.

Because Carol thinks that if she lets herself sit in silence beside Natasha’s grave, she might go mad.

And when she pauses for a moment, wracking her brain for something to say, she hears a twig crack somewhere behind her. She whirls around, fist at the ready – but it’s just Wanda Maximoff, stepping towards her carefully with both palms raised.

“Sorry,” Carol relaxes, leaning back against the cool marble surface tiredly. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Wanda settles herself down in the damp grass, crossing her legs neatly under her. “Couldn’t sleep. I wanted to come and see _her_.”

And when Carol glances sideways at her, Wanda’s green eyes are spilling over with tears, they streak down her cheeks, and she rubs at them angrily with the palm of her hand – and Carol remembers the way Natasha had talked about Wanda, a mix of fondness and guilt whenever Carol had brought up the teenager she’d taken under her wing, and it occurs to her, then, that Wanda’s lost her family, too.

“She loved you,” Carol finds herself saying as she reaches out to pull Wanda against her side, and Wanda leans into her embrace.

“I miss her.” Her voice is small and subdued, but Carol hears her anyway, and her heart twinges with a fresh burst of pain.

“I know."

She tilts her head back, staring up at her sky, willing the tears away –

_Natasha, forcibly dragging her to the roof of the Avenger’s compound on one of her last visits back on Earth, fiercely determined to ‘take a break from work and do whatever normal couples do, for once’. Her body warm and heavy in Carol’s arms as they’d watched the night sky fade and give way to dawn. The way she’d smiled up at Carol, sleepy and content when Carol had ducked her head to press a kiss to her temple. Her –_

Carol shakes her head, forcing herself back into the present.

“I know,” she repeats heavily. “I miss her too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay - got caught up (and distracted) by other stuff i had going on the past week. this is the last chapter now, the epilogue should be up in a a few days at most!


	20. Epilogue

_Now it's cold without you here, it's like winter lasts all year, but your star's still in the sky so I won't say goodbye._   
_I don't have to say goodbye._   
_\- Cold, RWBY_

* * *

It takes them two years to fully rebuild the Avengers compound, along with the rest of upstate New York.

Wanda watches, her hands in her pockets as Shuri – who’d flown in from Wakanda specially to help them out – helps them set up F.R.I.D.A.Y. all over again; there’s a backup of all their old files saved somewhere only Tony can access, and Shuri’s fingers fly over their keyboards, a blur of movement as she deftly slips her way through Stark’s security system and logs them in.

“And – done!” She pushes back from the table with a triumphant fist pump and a crow of delight, and there’s a quiet hum when the building systems whir into life all around them.

_“Good afternoon, boss. How may I help you?”_

She’s completely unprepared for the sudden rush of memories that slams right into her at that painfully familiar voice –

_Natasha lounging sideways in the armchair, her leg slung casually over the back of her seat, her nose buried in the new book she’s been reading for the past week, completely ignoring the bickering coming from the corner of the room; Vision is there, arguing with Tony, but their voices are so low that Wanda can’t make out their words, and she doesn’t particularly want to pry, so she keeps herself focused on the movie playing on the TV, reaching out idly for the bowl of popcorn perched precariously on Natasha’s lap._

_Steve calling on F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up a new simulation for Wanda to practice on. “Because you’re new to the team,” Natasha explains to her patiently when Wanda finds herself exhausted and snappy and flat on her back, her breath knocked out of her for the third time running – she holds out a hand, and Wanda takes it, lets Natasha pull her to her feet; Nat slings an arm over her shoulders when she helps Wanda back to her room._

_“You did well,” she says, later, after she’s looked over Wanda’s newly-acquired collection of cuts and bruises._

_“I did?”_

_“You did.”_

_And in spite of the pain that erupts across her cheekbone, making her wince, Wanda smiles up at her – because Natasha is a tough mentor to learn from and an even harder one to please, her praise comes infrequently, but it’s _always _sincere; and she can’t help the warmth that blooms deep in her chest. For the first time in a long, long while –_

_She thinks that she’s found a _family_, again._

She forces herself back to the present, rubbing at the tears on her cheeks before the rest of the Avengers can see – but she _knows_ they feel it too, and the weight of their grief pulsates in the room, a yawning, gaping hole that eats at her, making her chest feel heavy and hollow.

Sam shifts his weight uncomfortably – she’s watched him grow into his new role as _Captain America _over the two years, but the ghost of Steve Rogers lingers in the room now, and he pauses for a long, uncertain moment.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., download and run the files from the last system backup.”

_“Affirmative. Files downloaded. There are three missing calls from Carol Danvers, and a recorded video message from Natasha Romanov.”_

And the room goes still.

“Who - ,” Sam cuts himself off, inhaling sharply before continuing. “Who was its intended recipient?”

_“Agent Romanov left explicit instructions that the message should only be viewed by Carol Danvers.”_

* * *

Sometimes, Carol thinks that it’s almost easy to forget the weight of what she’s lost.

Sometimes, in the heat of the battle against space mercenaries or the Kree Starforce or other beings that roam the galaxy, it’s easy to forget the permanent ache she carries deep in her bones all the time. She’d turn around to place herself right into the path of an incoming enemy warship and the resulting explosion flings her, flipping head-over-heels, back towards the surface of the planet, flings every thought of Natasha Romanov out of her head.

(They don’t stay away for long. She wakes up in the middle of the night, her chest aching and tears streaking down her cheeks, her arms reaching out for a ghost that’s just _right there_ in her dream – one that fades away once she returns back to reality.)

She receives a call from Earth after almost two years away, and when she accepts it, Sam fades into view, his face tight and sober.

“You might want to sit down,” he skips over the pleasantries. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s just been rebooted, and you’re going to receive a video message that’s been left for you.”

And as though on cue, there’s a quiet ping from her comm system –

_One new message from: Natasha Romanov._

“I’ll leave you to watch it but – Carol, we’re _here_ for you, okay? Just say the word, and we’ll get Thor to bring us to wherever you are.”

He fades away, and her finger hovers over the button before she sucks in a deep breath and presses _play_, and the image of Natasha flickers to life. 

She drops the cup she's been holding in her hand. The metal clangs against the floor and rolls away, spilling its bright green contents _everywhere_, but Carol couldn't care less about the mess it's making right now. She's staring at the hologram projected from her wrist, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, because - it's _Natasha_, looking perfectly alive and well, as though the last two years hadn't happened at all.

Her hand shakes as she reaches out to touch her cheek and run her fingers through the bright red hair just once more - but the hologram simply flickers as she passes straight through it, and Natasha's face smiles sadly back at her.

"Tasha," her voice cracks on her name. "Tasha, please..."

She's not entirely sure what she's begging for - all she knows is that the crack in her heart that she'd thought was scabbing and healing over had been ripped clean open again, and she sobs, shoulders heaving, one arm still slightly outstretched, longing to reach out and touch the spectre of Natasha Romanov, sitting there right in front of her.

_“I’m sorry,” _Natasha begins simply. _“I’m not going to beat around the bush, Carol, I don’t have the time for that, now, because Clint and I are leaving soon, and I don’t think I’ll be coming back. I wish there was a better way – a different way to do this, but… I’ll get to bring everyone home, Carol.”_

There’s a long, pregnant pause.

_“You told me once,” _her voice is cracking now, and Carol can see her hands clenched so tightly around the edges of the table that her knuckles are turning white. _“You told me once that we’re all made of stardust. That we’re all made up of bits and pieces of the universe all around us. And we both know that none of us believe in fairytales, but – ”_

She breaks off to glance at something off-screen before continuing in a rush, her words stumbling over each other in their haste.

_“Maybe that’s where I’ll go after I die. Maybe that’s what I’ll become – just another speck of dust floating amongst the stars, maybe that’s where we’ll meet again.”_

A laugh, ugly, jagged and humourless wrenches its way out of her chest, before she carries on, _“Stupid idea, I know, but those are all I have left.”_

There’s a short pause, then, and when Natasha speaks again, her eyes are warm and soft and _sad._

_“I have to go, Carol, I just want – I just _need _you to know that I love you. More than you can imagine.”_

The video flickers for a moment, then replays itself, looping from the beginning all over again, and Carol sits there for the rest of the night, watching the ghost of Natasha Romanov speak to her from beyond her grave, until her tears completely obscure her vision and all she can see is a blur, telling her “I love you”, over, and over, and over again.

She reaches out, touches the window by her bed and blinks the tears away, watching the stars in the alien sky; she lets herself imagine that she can see the tiniest flecks of stardust dancing through space, lets herself think that _they’re _her Natasha, coming back to watch over her.

_God, Natasha. I love you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand we're done! thanks for sticking around for this twenty-chapter long rollercoaster ride, i really loved reading all of the comments that everyone's left over the course of the fic :) feel free to hit me up on tumblr (starslikecandlelight) just to scream at me, or chat :D


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